Tag: poetry

Bruised reeds and smoldering wicks

The second day of Holy Week after Palm Sunday is Holy Monday.

Varying traditions tell of several things that may have happened on the first Holy Monday in the Christian tradition. Jesus cleanses the temple on Holy Monday and curses a fig tree (Matthew 21). One of the lectionary readings for Holy Monday tells the story of a woman in Bethany anointing Jesus with expensive oil.

Holy Monday also includes a reading from the prophet Isaiah.

Here is my servant, whom I uphold,
my chosen, in whom my soul delights;
I have put my spirit upon him;
he will bring forth justice to the nations.

He will not cry or lift up his voice,
or make it heard in the street;
a bruised reed he will not break,
and a dimly burning wick he will not quench;
he will faithfully bring forth justice.

He will not grow faint or be crushed
until he has established justice in the earth;
and the coastlands wait for his teaching.

Isaiah 42

Reading this ancient text on Holy Monday during the COVID-19 crisis, my focus was drawn to the prophet’s powerful images of bruised reeds not broken and smothered wicks not quenched. What do these images mean for us as we journey toward Easter on a week when headlines warn of COVID-19 deaths, overwhelmed hospitals and health care providers, and frightening economic vulnerabilities for far too many people?

Many of us see and hear present day human woundedness in these images. We are bruised reeds and smothered wicks. We are people who are faint with worry and fear.

We are indeed worried and afraid in these uncertain days. And one gift Isaiah promises is a Chosen One who comes to our lives to bring spirit-infused justice and tender care.

Another way to think about the bruised reed and smothered wick during this Holy Week comes to mind as well.

The Chosen One does not seek political clout or military might. The Chosen One comes to bring justice but not in the ways the world expects.

In Matthew, Jesus quotes Isaiah 42, and many in the Christian tradition associate Jesus with Isaiah’s Chosen One. On this Holy Monday, we can imagine Jesus as a justice-maker and life-redeemer who defies the ways of the world. Jesus will not stop until he has sown seeds of justice into every corner of the earth. He will see the work of redemption and resurrection through to the end–even through suffering.

But he moves through the world with such care and in such an obtrusive manner that

as he passes through the marshes, not even bruised reeds will break off. Not a twig will snap. His draft won’t have enough force to blow out even a smoldering wick.

Peter Krol

Hmm…what can that mean? Don’t we want to see the footprints–the trail markers–where Jesus has walked so that we can follow? Don’t we yearn for tangible evidence that Jesus has passed by this way?

Because I am spending much of my time distant from friends but close to the dirt in my backyard, butterflies come to mind. I saw my first butterfly of the season yesterday.

As I watched that butterfly dance on the wind, I was reminded of Isaiah 42 and the Butterfly Effect. The Butterfly Effect in chaos theory refers to the idea that small actions have a more significant impact than we realize.

The simplified explanation of the Butterfly Effect goes something like this:

A butterfly flaps its wings in Chicago and a tornado occurs in Tokyo.

What does this have to do with bruised reeds and smoldering wicks during this Holy Week?

Jesus models for us a way to change the world that involves recognizing the power and promise of actions that defy existing structures of power and prominence. Every action we take–even the small ones–matter and can make a bigger difference than we realize.

We are living in times of unsung and unnoticed heroes. Health care providers, public school teachers, ministers, and others are doing everything they can to keep fires of hope burning in all of our lives. Many of them are risking their own well-being to provide this gift.

On this Holy Monday, we can celebrate a Justice-Making Jesus who moves through the earth with tender care for bruised reeds and smoldering wicks even as he resists–and overturns–the unjust power structures that so readily toss bent reeds on the trash pile and extinguish struggling flames.

We can also offer a word of gratitude for those heroes who together in their quiet and often unseen ways are saving our communities. Perhaps without realizing it, we are those heroes too, doing our part to foster the well-being of our cities and towns by staying home. By doing that we are tending to bruised reeds and smoldering flames and in unexpected ways living the Gospel.

a butterfly prayed for me today
or so I imagined 
when I saw her fold her wings
and open them up again as she danced
over a fuschia azalea blossom
in our backyard

i wonder–

did the air around her flutter
as some scientists say though
i couldn’t hear the faintest whoosh

who even notices a bent stalk
in a tumultuous sea of reeds
and yet butterflies push through
cocoons to commune
even with wounded ones

we are dust and ashes 
smoldering wicks
straining to hold the light 

and a butterfly prayed for us today

Honk if You Love Jesus (and Other Sacramental Pandemic Peculiarities)

Seeing your face is like seeing the face of God.

The sanctuary is empty, the parking lot full,
folks maneuvering pick ups and sedans
into back row spaces instead of back row pews,

just like Sunday morning—except

nothing is just like anything used to be. So
Pastor calls out from a flatbed trailer: “Honk
if you are glad to be in church today!”

And on a Wednesday night before a high holy
pandemic Palm Sunday procession,
worshipers hungry for a face, a word, a hug

fellowship through car windows,
then parade away into the evening,
a cacophony of horns blaring—

Chevy pick-ups and Honda Accords. Four-door sedans and all-wheel-drive hybrids. They all pulled into the church parking lot on Sunday morning. But instead of getting out of their vehicles to shake hands and offer hugs before going into the sanctuary, worshipers stayed in their cars. They waved to each other and waited. At 11am, the pastor pushed open the church’s front doors and headed out to the top step of the church entryway to offer a call to worship: “Honk if you are glad to be in church today!”

Drive-in worship

That is how “drive-in worship” was inaugurated at a small rural church in a neighboring county several weeks ago. Folks rolled down their windows or tuned into a special FM station so they could hear the pastor, and when they felt Spirit-inspired, they honked their “amens.”

A bumper sticker that’s been around for a long time—“Honk if you love Jesus”—has taken on a whole new meaning for worshipers in this community.

Journalist Lisa O’Donnell wrote about local drive-in church experiments in a Saturday Winston-Salem Journal article. The drive-in worship services O’Donnell describes are in Surry County and are examples of one way faith communities are trying to stay connected and vibrant during these pandemic days of social distancing.

Together while We Are Apart

Gathering to seek sacred wisdom for life and hope in the face of fear and uncertainty has become even more vital, it seems, to people who are spending long days alone or at least apart from their communities of work, worship, and play. In response, pastoral leaders are imagining unconventional ways to gather communities together for worship.

Without intending to, we are learning what it means to be the virtual Body of Christ (a topic ripe for additional conversation in a later post).

Virtual Signs of God-With-Us

Signs and symbols of God’s presence are central to worship practices in my Christian tradition. In recent weeks, unable to break actual bread together or pass the peace through literal hugs, people have sought out new ways to embody and share signs of God’s presence, love, and grace.

Some people are sewing face masks as a collaborative and communal project. Others are joining forces and finances to provide meals for school children. People are also sharing their musical and artistic gifts through an array of online sources. Some of my colleagues are surprised to discover that worshiping through social media platforms has even energized them and their communities.

In these uncertain days, many faith communities are finding their own unique ways to substitute honks for hallelujahs.

Seeing Your Face Is like Seeing the Face of God

I believe that God and faith in God can be found both in the most ordinary and the most mysterious dimensions of human spirits and everyday lives. I glimpse (and sometimes taste and touch) the shapes, textures, and colors of God’s life-giving mysteries when I worship with others who are also seeking faith and spiritual understanding. For now, COVID-19’s threat means we have to rely on visual and aural dimensions of Christian worship and human connection.

I am reminded of a story in Genesis. In this ancient story, Jacob crosses a river to meet his brother, Esau. Jacob fears this encounter because of the way he mistreated Esau in the past.

The scene of their meeting is powerful. Esau embraces Jacob with grace and love. Jacob responds:  “Seeing your face is like seeing the face of God.” 

In these uncertain days, being together as people of faith, even in unfamiliar ways, is important because of the hope and strength people find in seeing each other’s faces and hearing each other’s voices. Simple acts and gestures (index and forefinger in a V to pass the peace, emoji waving on Facebook live, honking an “amen”) remind us that God is with us, a belief that centers us and gives us hope.

And all God’s people honked an “Amen.”